


Come Full Circle

by deleriumofyou, WardsAreFunctioning



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood Magic, Demons, Haunted Houses, Horror, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-17 18:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12371826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleriumofyou/pseuds/deleriumofyou, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WardsAreFunctioning/pseuds/WardsAreFunctioning
Summary: In 9:40 Dragon, the Seekers of Truth annulled the Circle at Dairsmuid, slaughtering every mage they found inside. Since then, its tall towers and dark halls have been silent and empty.In 9:43, the Inquisitor sends Charter to investigate when disturbing reports begin to pour in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two of us decided to do a spooky little collaboration in honor of Halloween. This takes place in Thedas, but outside the scope of the games and their characters--with one cameo exception. 
> 
> Also, there are some disturbing themes, so please be mindful and take the warnings seriously. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

They followed the dwarf out of the city, three cloaked figures under a bright gray sky, Eugenia clasping Salriel’s hand. At first, Salriel asked the dwarf questions about the safehouse. His answers were short. Unhelpful. It left Salriel troubled, but it wasn’t like they had other options. He was grateful they had one at all.

Night had long since fallen. With it came silence between the three of them. The road turned into a narrow path. Insects buzzed and chirped, and the scent of the sea began to fade as the trees around them grew thicker. The air was heavy now with the smell of damp wood and fruit, both sweet and rotting.

A breeze or animal ruffled the branches above them. Salriel felt Eugenia’s hand clutch his tighter. He pulled her close, glancing back at her. Her eyes were downcast, one hand on her swollen stomach. His heart lurched, as it always did when he saw her--them, really. His little family. A constant reminder of why their escape was so important.

Why his failure to protect them was so devastating.

 _Cato will not have you_ , he promised the child.

“How much longer?” he asked the dwarf, turning his head forward to peer at their guide.

“Not long now,” the dwarf replied. Another non-answer. Salriel frowned, but kept his annoyance to himself. He reminded himself this was a blessing. The dwarf was the only chance he had at saving Eugenia, and the baby.

They’d met him at an inn in Dairsmuid, a place they’d planned to stay that night. The Innkeep had darted her eyes between them, taking in Salriel’s _valasslin_ and Eugenia’s rounded ears and belly. She’d smiled a bit too widely when she said she’d be right back.

Salriel had known instantly.

“He’s here,” he’d told Eugenia.

“I know,” Eugenia had whispered back, her frightened eyes scanning the room.

In that moment, it had seemed like all was lost. They’d been discovered. They’d be escorted back to Minrathous and punished for their attempt. Their child would only know a life of pain and terror and blood.

“You folks looking for someplace to lay low?” a raspy voice had said behind them. They’d turned to see a black-haired dwarf, chewing on an unlit pipe with yellow teeth. They’d told him they were. The dwarf had made a noise, more _heh_ than _ha_ , his Orzammar accent bleeding into his laugh. “Well. I might know just the place.”

And so they’d followed him, hoping against hope that he wasn’t leading them to Cato.

“Salriel,” Eugenia said softly, bringing him back to the present. He turned to meet her tea-brown eyes. It took her a moment for her to continue. “My feet hurt.”

Salriel squeezed her hand. Unlike him, Eugenia had been born into slavery. She still struggled with the concept of freedom. She’d been trained to endure her own suffering, not to address it, and it was hard for him to break her of that habit. He looked back at the dwarf. “We need to rest,” he told him.  

“Not yet,” the dwarf said. Salriel’s irritation spiked. “The place'll be just past this next turn, I promise.”

Salriel fell silent again, shooting an apologetic glance back at Eugenia. She was staring at the ground and did not see him. She’d been distant since--well, since they'd met his clan.

Five minutes later, they emerged from the jungle. The building came into view. It was growing too dark to make out the whole thing, but it looked massive, it's grey walls stretching in every direction. There were two towers Salriel could see, and possibly more hidden by the black of the night.

“See?” the dwarf said proudly, jiggling his pipe with his teeth. “What’d I tell ya?”

Salriel took in the parapets, the windows, the ramparts. “It’s abandoned?”

The dwarf shrugged. “Bandits come from time to time. Empty right now, though.”

 _Bandits._ That made Salriel a little nervous. He opened his mouth to ask Eugenia if they could sleep in the woods. He was Dalish, after all. Or--he’d been Dalish once, at least. He had his bow. He could catch them something to eat, maybe even build a little awning if he could find leaves that--

His thoughts were interrupted by the distant rumbling of thunder. He sighed. He had no cloth, no aravel with which to protect them. He did not know if there were caves nearby. They would need real shelter tonight.

“This is perfect,” he told the dwarf.

 

…

 

There was no gate, which struck Salriel as odd. The entrance--a simple wooden door--sat between two statues of Andraste, her arms stretched forward in supplication. The door creaked on rusty hinges when the dwarf opened it.

Salriel peered around the room. He lit a torch he found on the floor with the bits of flint he kept in his pocket and placed it in a holder. The entry room was large and bare, clearly stripped clean by looters over the years. The moldy carpet on the ground had probably been too large to carry out. Half-torn banners hung from the walls, symbols he did not recognize decorating them. Beside him Eugenia stilled.

“Oh,” she said. He turned to look at her. “This was a circle.”

He followed her gaze toward the hallway, where a gate blocked the way. The gate he’d looked for outside. Eugenia was right. This was a place built not to keep people out, but to keep people in.

“Yup,” the dwarf said, his hands on his hips. “Dairsmund Circle. It was associated with the city, see, but they didn’t want it so close to the ports.” He lowered his voice. “Runaways,” he explained. “Can’t let them get to sea, or you’ll never catch ‘em.”

 _You would think_ , Salriel thought bitterly.

“Now, the beds are on the second floor,” the dwarf explained, taking a few steps toward the fireplace against one wall. He hit the wall right above it. “I’d be careful about these guys if I were you. Make sure you only light ‘em in the rooms that don’t face out, or someone will know something’s up. There’s some food down in the cellar.” He grinned around his pipe. “Most of it’s rotted by now, but I’m sure you can find something, if you look real hard.”

“Thank you,” Salriel said.

“No problem,” the dwarf replied. “Pay it forward when you’re safe, will you?” He wiggled his pipe again. “If I had a gold coin for every time I’ve had to rely on some stranger’s kindness, I’d be a rich man.”

Eugenia was still staring at the gate, her lips squeezed together. “What happened to the mages?” she asked finally.  

 _“Heh,”_ the dwarf said, crossing his arms, amusement glinting in his eyes. “The war happened, didn't it? Whole place was annulled. Poor bastards.”

“Annulled?” she asked, her eyes widening.

“Yeah,” he said. “Big scandal at the time, having the Chantry up here, killing off the seers. Rivain’ll never forgive them.”

Salriel saw the panic in her eyes. He wanted to take her in his arms, to hold her, to wipe the worry away with kisses. But for weeks, she'd turned her head away whenever he tried.

Instead, he squeezed her hand and spoke. “Relax, Geni. The war is over. Whatever happened here, it happened years ago.” He tried to sound reassuring. “We’ll just stay one night, alright?”

“Salriel,” she whispered, too low for the dwarf to hear. “What if I escaped from one master, just to serve another? The southern Chantry--they hate mages.” She ran her tongue over her lips. “And the baby. What if it’s like me, and--?”

“One step at a time, _ma’lath,”_ he told her. “We’ll figure it out, hm?”

She nodded, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

Salriel turned around. “We are deeply in your debt, _falon._ But you never told us your--”

He blinked. The dwarf was gone. He searched the room with his eyes, but the gate to the hallway was still closed, and the only other entrance was the door.

“Did you hear the door?” he asked Eugenia, who was still breathing deeply.

She opened her eyes, confused. “The door?”

Salriel glanced around the room again, his brow knotted. “Nothing,” he said. “Never mind.” The last thing he wanted was for Eugenia to worry. He took her hand. “Come. Let’s find a bedroom, and you can rest your feet.”

 

…

 

After making sure Eugenia was comfortable and warm in a room facing the courtyard, Salriel left to find the cellars. The hallways were tall and thin. He did not dare to light a torch. He was worried he'd be seen from a window. Cato or one of his men could be somewhere nearby. Being raised as a hunter by his clan, he did not need a light to see or explore. He kept his bow on his back, ready to draw it at any moment, but he doubted he would. The halls were still. Quiet. The only disturbance was an occasional flash of lightning, followed by a rumble of thunder.

The staircase he found curled into a spiral, tiny steps with three sides instead of four. He kept his fingers on the stone wall as he went down.

The storm hit while he was descending. He could hear the crescendo of water slamming into the side of the building, the tapping of raindrops suddenly becoming a pounding. The sound grew distant as he reached the cellars. At the bottom of the staircase was a cold torch in a holder. He took out the flint, knowing there would be no windows here.

The flint sparked. There was a figure in armor to his right. Salriel jumped back, his stomach leaping into his throat. He counted his heartbeats. There was no sound. No movement. He let his eyes adjust. He could faintly make out the silhouette of a motionless man.

Cautiously he used the flint again. This time, the torch caught. He let out a whoosh of air as he realized that the figure was a dead templar, his helmet still on. He grabbed the torch and took a few wary steps closer. Beneath the helm, he could see the white sockets of a skull. The skeleton was propped up against the wall in a sitting position, on top of a wooden table, his head turned toward the stairwell. A spear protruded from his shoulder. Black bloodstains that had dried up long ago surrounded him, staining the wood.

Salriel let himself breathe, his pulse slowing to a comfortable beat. He ventured further into the cellar. He could hear vermin scatter as he walked, squeaks and indistinct scurrying in the darkness.

Supplies had been set up in rows--first, three lines of barrels, then the crates, then an array of woven sacks. Next to the sacks were potions--sleeping and healing, from what he could see. The lyrium had long since been looted. He paced slowly in front of the long shadowed avenues between them, taking stock of their condition. The barrels were probably for ale and wine, he decided. From the smell, the crates had been fruit and vegetables. And peppers, he assumed. The Rivaini certainly liked their peppers. There were black splotches on the ground where the fruit had rotted and fermented, leaking into the wooden floor. The sacks were grains and oats.

 _No meat_ , he observed. His nose was thankful for that. There must have been a farm of some sort, he decided, or a separate room for a butcher. He went to the bags and began opening them, seeing if anything was salvageable. Ten minutes later, he’d dry-heaved twice at what he found, but he emerged victorious, a sack of good rice slung over his shoulder. After a thought, he pocketed a sleeping potion. He himself would need to be alert, but Eugenia had been having nightmares. She could use a good night’s sleep.

 _A pot_ , he thought to himself. Eugenia could make ice into water. In his time as a slave, he’d learned that human cellars like this usually opened up to a kitchen, so he turned, intent on finding a second staircase.

He stopped.

The dead templar’s skull was turned toward the food. Toward him.

The hairs on the back of Salriel’s neck rose. He narrowed his eyes, doubting himself.

 _Hadn’t it been--?_ he thought.

He shook his head. Dead men did not move. This wasn’t Nevarra. The dark and the thunder were making him paranoid.

Tearing his eyes from the templar, he gazed around the room again. Sure enough, there was a second staircase toward the back, another spiraling tower with tiny steps. Salriel strode toward it, shifting the sack to make it comfortable to carry.

The rain echoed against in the tiny space. The storm had begun in earnest now. A crash of thunder made the building shudder.

Over the roar of the storm, Salriel did not hear the creak of armor.

…

 

The room was empty when he returned. A fire crackled, illuminating the room in gold. Salriel looked at every corner. When he saw nothing, he panicked.

“Geni?” he cried, dropping the sack and pot, going back to the hallway. He looked left, then right. There was no response. He chose left, jogging as he tried to contain himself. “Geni!”

Finally he saw a flicker from one of the rooms. He ran faster, grabbing the doorway as he entered.

Eugenia was standing in the middle of the room, in full view of the large window, her arms hugging herself. She had her back to him. Her gaze was on the lit fireplace against one wall. Rain was slanting in from outside. Already, her hair was wet, dark curls plastered against the brown skin of her neck.

“Geni!” Salriel exclaimed. He went to her, dragging her away from the window. He was so relieved that he embraced her, and her wet clothes soaked through his shirt. His hands stayed tight on her shoulders when he pulled his head up to look at her. _“Elgar’nan, ma’lath,_ what were you thinking? Put out the fire!”

She looked at him with unseeing eyes for a moment and then blinked, glancing back at the fireplace. With a wave of her hand, it went dead, a whiff of smoke taking its place.

Salriel touched her cheek, bringing her forehead down to his. He almost felt he could float. _Safe_ , he told himself. _They’re safe._

“Come back to the room, _ma’lath,”_ he told her, his voice hoarse.

She closed her eyes, confusion writ on her face. Her brow lowered further. She pulled away from him as soon as she realized how close they were. He reluctantly released her.

“I heard…,” she began. She swallowed, her head turning to the side.

“You heard what?” he asked, concerned.

“A child,” she said. “I heard her screaming. I ran to find her--” She broke off, shaking her head.

“It must have been something else,” Salriel told her, reaching to touch her cheek. “Perhaps the thunder--”

Eugenia shook her head again, ducking away from his touch. “No,” she said. “No. It was loud. So loud. She was.... right here, behind this door, begging them to stop.”

Sahriel dropped his hand. “Begging who to stop, _ma’lath?”_

Eugenia hugged herself tighter. “I... don’t know.”

Salriel watched her face. She kept her eyes on the floor. “Is that why you lit a fire?” he asked.

Her eyes darted toward the dark fireplace. “I didn’t light it. It was already there when I came in.”

Salriel was silent a moment. “Are you sure? We’re the only ones here,” he said gently. “Maybe your magic reacted to the storm?”

Eugenia looked up, her face hardening. “I _didn’t_ light it,” she insisted.

Salriel hesitated, torn between correcting her again and letting it go. “Alright,” he said finally. “I believe you.” She relaxed, her shoulders releasing tension.

It was a lie. But he did not want to add to the gulf between them.

“Come back to the room,” he said again. This time, she nodded. She followed as he left, though her steps were slow.

When they climbed into bed after a silent meal of rice, he stared at her back, wanting to stroke her hair as it dried into curls. It was shorter now. They’d cut her long braids off for the journey.

She began to shake. He realized she was crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. She was quiet. “Please. Geni. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Master will find us,” she said. “Master will find us and punish us.”

“Cato,” Salriel corrected. He reached out a tentative hand and pressed it against her back.

“Cato,” she repeated, bitterly. Her voice became low, accusing. “You promised, _amatus._ You told me you could save us.” Salriel pulled his hand away, a wave of shame in his chest. “That your clan would take us in.”

Salriel’s reply was a whisper. “I truly believed they would, _ma’lath._ We're taught that every babe is a blessing.”

“But your brother-- he said the baby--”

He stiffened. “Lashalani is an idiot,” he told her sternly. “Please don’t think my people are so cruel. Keeper Arven would have welcomed you with open arms, I promise you.”

And she would have. Salriel was sure of that. But in the ten years since he’d been stolen from his family, Falon’Din had taken Arven across the Veil, leaving the clan in the far stricter hands of Arven’s First, his brother.

Lashalani’s words still rung in his ears.

_“We can’t take them in. The child will be a shem. Just like it’s mother.” A disappointed glare. “You’ve been among them for too long, lethallin”_

Eugenia took in a watery breath. “He’ll find us. Mas-- _Cato._  We have no protection.” She just sobbed harder. “He knows it’s yours now. That it has _your_ _blood._ You know what he’ll do to the child.” Her voice became hollow. “You’ve doomed us to a fate worse than death.”

“Don’t say that, Geni,” he pleaded. He began to run his hand lightly against Eugenia’s back again. “I misjudged. But that doesn’t mean we should give up hope.” He paused, touching her hair. “Cato will not have you. _I promise.”_

She said nothing. Finally, he tugged her over, pulling her against him. She relented, going into his arms.

 _“Ir abelas, ma’lath,”_ he said, over and over, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

Eventually, Eugenia’s tears abated, and they lay in the warm room, drifting toward the Fade. Salriel began to dream of a feast that Cato had thrown after he’d returned from Seheron, when Salriel had managed to steal a jar of olives to share with Eugenia. Master had been too drunk that night to summon him.

That had been their first night together. A bright, glowing memory among the ashes.

Suddenly he heard a woman sobbing, the sound echoing in the hallway.

Half-awake, he murmured, “Hush.”

“Hm?” Eugenia asked, sleepily.

“Don’t cry,” he told her.

Eugenia shifted against him without opening her eyes. “I’m not,” she whispered back, yawning.

The sobs had stopped. Salriel’s eyelashes fluttered, and the lure of the dream tugged him under. He smiled into his lover’s hair, still tasting the brine of the olives on his tongue.

The next thing that woke him was the sound of a dragging foot.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The introduction of our villains! Also the second part of the intro.

_There is a marked difference between the effectiveness of cats' blood depending on what species it is. The red lion, of course, is the most difficult to obtain and obscenely expensive due to the cat’s predilection to hunt those who believe_ they _are hunting_ it _. There are the shadow leopards that roam the jungles of Seheron – their blood, as I’ve noticed in my previous experiments, is of a lesser quality than the red lion; however, it is useful when binding spirits to corpses. I believe it may be due to their constant closeness to the spirits; even the barbaric ancient writings regarded the leopard as a creature that guarded the realms of the dead, or was tasked in retrieving astray souls…_

“Father.”

Cato tapped his quill on his parchment paper. A finely sculpted brow lifted slowly. “Cassia.”

His daughter came into the light – dragging her left leg behind her with a rasp of noise. Her facial disfigurement was emphasized sharply in the flickering candlelight. He was tempted to put it out, or drown the room in light.

She shifted. “The innkeeper said she saw them walk in for a room.”

Cato immediately abandoned his writing and braced his hands on his small desk. “And?”

Her eyes dropped. “But they left, maybe to find shelter in the woods?”

Cato inhaled swiftly and grit his teeth. “And so the purpose of this late night call on your very busy father was only to tell me something else your ever helpful speculation has found?”

She blinked rapidly at him, one eye rolled to stare blankly at the opposite wall.

Idiot girl.

“Get your brother,” he barked, flapped a hand at her. His tailored robe’s sleeves fluttered.

“I’m sorry,” Cassia’s voice dropped to that detestable rasp she got when she was upset. She moved away, achingly slow, while Cato searched his chest. A wooden box with sigils on it made a distinct clinking noise when he lifted it quickly. Glass vials lined the velvet innards, properly labeled and already prepared for use. He began securing several to his belt carefully. If they had to search for them, they would need to be prepared. He didn’t want to spend all night in the rain looking for his lambs. He would if he absolutely had to. He would hound Vitus to the ends of the world. His blood was special. Precious. Powerful.

Heavier boots accompanied the drag of his daughter’s useless leg.

“Father,” Cassius’s voice boomed within the room. His handsome grin was a stark difference to his sister's ugliness. “Good news. I found a dwarf who says he can help us find them. I had to buy him a drink, but, he says he’s quite certain he knows where they went.”

Cato eyed his son dubiously. Infinitely more helpful than his sister, certainly, and a reliable heir, but Cato knew something of talking to strangers in dark corners. “ _Really_.”

“With a storm like this rolling in, if they didn’t stay at this inn, there’s only one place for miles they could’ve found shelter in,” Cassius said excitedly, drawing a crude map from his tunic. He unfolded it on the table and pointed at the sketch of a tower.

“Dairsmund Circle,” Cato observed with interest. The seers of Rivain had died for the south’s inability to cope with magic properly. He heard whispers of the Rivaini holding grudges; building secret armies, supporting the qunari against the Chantry for the sake of vengeance – nonsense, of course. Rivain was lovely with its histories and magical practices, but it was simply a dock city. It stunk of fish and heavily perfumed whores. Shame that the circle had been annulled. The one true redeeming feature of Rivain.

“Would they go in there?” his daughter slurred, one side of her mouth dropping.

“Darling, don’t speak if you’re going to sound so foul,” Cato murmured absently. “Send for the dwarf. We’ll pay him. Be ready to leave soon.” He stopped his son before he could leave. “Hold a moment, Cassius. I’ve something for you. A present.”

His son lifted his brows when Cato withdrew a pendant from the box. Swirls of ash and gold were shown clearly within the crystal, looped carefully on a leather cord. He laid it over his son’s head, laying it on his chest with a fond pat to his shoulder. “You’ve done well.”

He watched his son puff up with pride, felt that same pride surge in him. A wheezing inhale ruined the moment. “A good luck charm, father?”

Cato patted the pendant. “Ash, smoke, and blood. An old Chasind recipe. The one thing I've found redeemable about the bog barbarians. It brings luck, and enhances magical ability. You already do so well, think of this not as a critique of your talents, my boy, but rather...something to give you an edge. Quite lovely, aside from that, isn't it?”

His son's grin hovered sincerely. “Thank you, father.”

“Can’t we just let them go?” Cassia muttered. Her smooth hand plucked at her robes. “They’ve made it this far –”

“And they deserve to just be allowed to roam free?” Cato asked shrilly. “I realize you find your own heritage distasteful, my dear, but if you could kindly keep it to yourself and shut up about it, then perhaps I’ll give you your potion later so you aren’t dragging your carcass from room to room like some diseased animal waiting to die.”

Cassia made an aborted hiccup.

Cassius looked amused. “Come now, father. This is supposed to be a family outing. Cassia already apologized.”

Cato sneered. “As if releasing half our stock is something she can so easily be forgiven for.” He regarded his eldest. He tapped her nose and she flinched. “Luckily, I’m a patient parent. I’ll wait as long as I must until you’ve learned your lesson properly, darling. I know your mother had…weaknesses that clearly have been passed to you and it is my job to cleanse you of that. _The day you stop embarrassing my name is the day you can look yourself in the mirror and not feel that nausea I know must overcome you._ ” He gripped her chin. “You’re lucky I haven’t confiscated your “servants” to teach them what you _haven’t_ , as of yet.”

She didn’t respond. He put a piece of her hair behind her ear. “What do you say, darling Cassia? Do you need father to look after your lambs for you?”

She shook her head quickly in a stunted manner. “Thank you,” she rasped, her slurring worse than it had been. “I'll be better.”

Cassius tousled his sister’s hair. “It isn’t so bad, Cassia. Father’s just angry that his prize elf got away from it. You didn’t know.”

Cato looked at his son narrowly. “Don’t encourage her. She’s incorrigible enough as it is.”

Cassius just smiled. “So, father. The dwarf?”

“Yes, yes. Get him ready. We’ll be down.” Cato paused, waited for Cassia to claim she was in too much pain, or wanted to remain behind. She knew he was keeping a tally of her mistakes. She said nothing, and Cato brushed a hand over her hair; her one remaining redeeming feature. “That’s right, darling. Off with you Cassius. I need to give Cassia her potion.”

They left the inn shortly after Cassius secured the dwarf and Cato gave his daughter her potion.

The trek was dreary without any mounts. But on the off chance that the dwarf was wrong and Vitus was planning an ambush, then those long ears of his would hear Cato and his children before they’d even be able to speculate which direction the elf had gone.

The dwarven man who was leading them grinned often with crooked yellow teeth bared first. Cassius made casual conversation with him while Cato pointedly ignored his questions. Cassia clutched at the tiny potion her father had given her, sipping at it like a babe.

The dwarf regarded her oddly, smile slipping a little before widening and asking what her name was.

Cassia had given it, her dead eye lolling around in her head.

“Pretty name,” was the only response he gave. It had begun to drizzle and gradually the pressure from the rain grew heavier.

Cato and Cassius flipped their hoods up while Cassia struggled with her outer robe.

When they came upon the remains of the Circle, like a great animal that had been skeletonized over time, Cato turned slowly to the dwarf. “And you saw them go in here?”

The dwarf gnawed on his pipe. “It’s what I said, dinnit I?”

Cassius looked thoughtful. “Why would they go here?”

The dwarf shrugged. “There’s not a lot of places to put your feet up. I don’t think they had much choice.”

No. No they hadn’t. Like rats being corned in a cellar, Cato had made sure they couldn’t simply scuttle off again. Not without someone whispering in his ear. His fingers tugged at the finger bone earring that dangled in his right ear. He noted the statues of Andraste with distaste. “Your services are no longer needed.” He waved at Cassius who dropped two gold coins in the dwarf’s outstretched hand. Thunder rumbled ominously and in the distance, the sky split with lightning. No. They wouldn’t be going anywhere. Vitus was quite capable of navigating through terrible weather, as he’d proved during their ventures in Seheron.

Eugenia, however, had hamstrung him.

He could only move as fast as she could waddle.

“Lots of things fell apart in there,” the dwarf said casually. “Best watch your step.” He looked at Cassia’s leg.

She tugged at her wet robe. She had stumbled several times in the dirt on their way over.

“Thank you,” Cato said forcefully. “Come.” He curled a finger at Cassia, staring at her hard as she moved closer. Cassius watched the dwarf leave, his pipe burning orange in the night.

“Are we taking them both alive? The woman’s a mage,” Cassius said.

“Of course we are. Mage blood mixing with that Dalish creature’s line? It sounds exquisite. Eugenia had never been a favorite of mine, but she managed to breed successfully with Vitus,” Cato insisted.

His son frowned. “It might be best to just kill them both and collect what you need from them after, father. The elf already proved to be wild –”

“Cassius. We take them both.”

Cato saw his daughter standing still, staring into the dark courtyard and was about to yell at her for dawdling, when he saw a fire in the tower. Just as he saw it, it died. He smiled. “As the dwarf said, my lambs are waiting. Wonderful.” He gave Cassius a long look. “Watch yourself, Cassius. We need them alive, but that elf is a crafty thing. He’ll do more than just scratch.”

His son chuckled silently. “Of course, father. I’ll beware of the big, bad elf.”

Cassia watched them silently, hand gripping her worn staff. Her bad eye rolled at the towers.

Cato noted with some disgust that it appeared to be watching the old ramparts intently. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. Cassius appeared to have ignored it, but

Cato was unable to. “Something you need to say, Cassia, my dear?”

She shuffled her feet, hunched her shoulders. “I don’t like this place, father. It’s a – a graveyard. A Circle was _annulled_ here, mages were killed. Must we do this now?”

Cato showed no emotion. “And have the lambs bleating about the countryside, without a shepherd? How heartless of you, Cassia. There’s monstrous people out there in the world, you know.”

He dismissed her and turned away. Cassius followed his father, tossing a wink at his sister.

Cassia stared up at the ramparts, the parapets; felt the unease build in her gut until it simmered like a stew set to boil. Cato observed his daughter who took a step back, head beginning to shake. He tapped at a potion bottle on his hip. “I only have this one left, darling, and unfortunately I hadn’t made more before we left. I’d hate to think of you in pain while your brother and I search for my property.”

She stared at the bottle. “I could wait out here,” she bargained.

Cato raised his brows. “You could. But then you’d be alone, in the dark. What if you have an attack? I would leave this with you…” he toyed with the cork of the bottle. “But it has dreadfully addictive properties. I would prefer if I supervised you. I've seen you guzzle it down before. It's awfully hard on your body, Cassia.”

Her defeat was predictable. She slunk forward awkwardly.

The large wooden doors shut behind them after they entered as one unit.

Cassius summoned a small light to his palm. “Rather creepy in here, isn’t it?” He squinted into the darkness.

Cato hummed but felt the thinness of the Veil, the ever seductive stretch of the Fade. “I wonder what secrets this place may yet hold.” The seers, in their everlasting wisdom had collected books and scriptures, reports – things the Chantry had seen fit to kill them for. Pity.

Cassia wheezed beside him. “Father, my leg. It hurts,” she breathed.

“Endure the pain, dear. They say beauty is pain so perhaps that means yours may come back to you if you’re patient enough.”

Cassius held out an arm to his sister who took it gratefully, laughing quietly at her when she wobbled and hissed. “Come now, Cassia. It isn’t so terrible,” he said.

Her head drooped. “May I please go outside?” she asked between clenched teeth.

Cato rolled his eyes. “Honestly, if all you’re doing to do is be negative, then yes, please go outside and wait in the pouring rain, Cassia,” he snapped.

Cassia dragged herself away and tried the doors, yanking at them. “Cassius,” she wheezed, sounding short of breath, “Can you help me?”

Cassius pulled on the doors. “Odd.”

Cato turned. “What?”

“They’re locked father, perhaps barred?” Lifting his hand, his son cast a spell and seemed dumbfounded when the door still didn’t open.

Cato scowled. “That damn dwarf. He probably uses this place as a baiting ground to rob people.”

Cassius’s expression melted, transforming his youthful face into a mask of rage. “That little bastard,” he hissed. “How dare he try to fool –”

Cato waved off his son’s anger. “Calm yourself, Cassius. These towers are meant to keep mages in, but more importantly, I do believe he might be telling the truth about the elf.” He tapped on a vial of blood at his belt, warm to the touch. “He was useful for one thing, at least. And when his fellows come and try to claim whatever they think they can scavenge from us, we’ll kill them. Simple.” He idly toyed with the brief daydream of what dwarven blood could be capable of.

They made their way slowly through the darkness, led only by the glow of Cassius’s summoned light. Old smears of blood, tatters of cloth, dented and abandoned helmets and shields littered the floor. “Quietly,” Cato whispered. His son’s steps lightened and his daughter appeared to at least make an effort to haul herself along more quietly.

Cassia stumbled abruptly and fell with a gurgle.

Cato turned. “What?”

Cassius was helping his sister up, but her eyes were focused on something in an adjacent room. The door was in splinters, likely hacked open by a templar blade. “I saw something,” she whispered. “Someone’s in there.” She trembled. "I saw someone. Someone - someone moved. In armor." 

Cato was unimpressed. “My dear I don’t believe you see much out of that hideous thing that rolls around in your skull like a cracked marble.”

“But –”

Cato silenced her with a look. Cassius spoke softly then. “Father. There’s a templar in there. I can see his breastplate.” The light hovering near him glowed, not quite illuminating the shadows within the room.

Cato stiffened and prepared to strike first. Cassius had never faced off against a southern templar, and Cassia was essentially useless in all things but entropy, so if a templar was lingering about the remnants of this fallen Circle, Cato was the only one qualified and powerful enough to fight back. He pulled his son back from Cassia, leading the young man behind him. He summoned a fistful of fire and prepared to launch it at the templar to see the suit of armor motionless against the wall, slumped, yet standing awkwardly. A spear had pierced through the breast of the armor and seemed to keep it pinned against the wall behind it like a butterfly.

Cato relaxed when he saw the skull through the slats of the helmet. “Just a corpse,” he said, relieved.

“But it moved, father, I saw it,” Cassia insisted. "It tilted its head at me, it waved, it moved I swear it did."

Cato pinched the bridge of his nose. “My dear, you can barely see across your bedroom without bumping into something. I find it rather difficult to believe you can see much of anything in this sort of lighting.”

“Please, can we just go, father?” Her voice broke.

“Cassia, the door is barred. After we find father’s lucky rabbit, we’ll have to find another exit.”

“I don’t care about them, I know what I saw, I want to leave, please daddy, please I want to leave,” Cassia’s voice dwindled to a hoarse, inhuman noise and she began to weep.

Cato stared at his daughter, aghast. “Can you go nowhere, do nothing without coming apart like this?” he asked incredulously.

“Please,” she pleaded, once more slurring the word.

He grit his teeth. “Tend to your sister, Cassius.”

“Yes, father.” His son went to Cassia’s disfigured side and took some of her weight. “Come now, sissy. Hush. Hush now.”

“But I know it moved, I saw it walk, I saw it I saw it I saw it,” she babbled. Her dead eye floated without fixating on anything.

“Probably just a rat or something, Cassia. Stop throwing a fit,” her brother scolded gently.

“I don’t want to be here,” she shuddered against her brother. “I want to leave.”

“We all do,” Cassius agreed, “but first we need to get father’s things back, then we’ll all leave. Alright?”

Cassia shook her head.

Cato had little patience for his daughter’s tantrum, and led the way to where he estimated he’d seen the firelight.

The dead templar was soon forgotten, and the family moved further into the bowels of the Circle. The vial of Vitus’s blood was still warm; he was here and very close. The room that the fire had been lit in was empty, but wet footprints led elsewhere. Cato shot Cassius a look, then Cassia who was now walking on her own with a pale face.

He held a finger to his lips, pointing at the tracks. Cassius nodded. Cassia stared dumbly, as aware of her surroundings as a cow for slaughter.

Cato tugged his staff from his back threaded through with Vitus’s hair and lacquered lavishly with the blood of a slave he’d purchased off the gladiator’s block. The footprints ended at a room.

Cassia shuddered, head turning to look behind them. Cato ignored her and gestured for Cassius to come up to his side.

Cassia whimpered, staring at the end of the hall they had come from, both eyes fixed on something in the dark. She bit her lip and said nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a cliff.

Below the cliff were sharp rocks, the sea crashing over them. The sunlight was almost blinding here, making the water dance with light. Like when Cassia’s diamond necklace caught the flicker of a candle. Or when dawn hit Master’s eastern study, setting a shelf of scarlet vials aflame.

Eugenia stood above it all, one hand resting on her swollen belly.

 _Antiva_ , she thought, distantly.

“Eugenia,” a voice said behind her.

She turned to see Keeper Lashalani, Salriel's brother.

The man who'd turned her away.

Lashalni stood ten paces away, his elegant staff planted in the ground with one hand. It struck her again how young he was, younger than Salriel by five years. Unlike his brother, his hair was cropped short, nearly shaved. The tufts of sandy grass around them matched his eyes, soft and bright and green. His vallaslin was simpler than the broad, thick arrows that covered Salriel’s face. The Keeper's was one mark, curled around his left eye like a dark brown question mark on his pale skin.

He raised the brow above that mark. “What are you doing all the way up here?”

The question made her try to remember. “I... don’t know,” she told him. She turned back to the cliff. “I think I wanted to see the sea.” 

His gaze went to the horizon before returning to her face. “You do enjoy your wandering, don’t you?” he said, a dry note to his voice. A rhetorical question. “But come. We should return. My brother is not a man to be kept waiting.”

She ran her hand over her belly, thinking. “Salriel’s a patient man,” she said slowly.  _More patient than I deserve_ , she thought.

“Normally, yes,” the Keeper allowed. “But today of all days, we do not want to test that, do we?” He held out his hand with a grin. “And it would not do for a lady to be late to her own bonding, would it,  _lethallan?”_

Eugenia’s brow drew together. “Bonding?” She remembered the term. Salriel had told her that it was the Dalish form of marriage.

“Just so,” the Keeper said. He took a step toward her, his hand still outstretched. “After today, I will call you sister.”

“But…,” she began. She shook her head, clearing it. “You refused me. You told Salriel we were not welcome.”

The Keeper rolled his eyes, though the good-natured grin remained on his face. “Yes, yes. I suppose you’ll hold that against me for the rest of my days, won’t you? Very well, I’ll say it again: I apologize. It was wrong of me to turn you away. So wrong, in fact, that I chased you both all the way to Llomerryn.”

“You did?” she asked, her voice softer.

“Of course,” he said, taking another step toward her. “I had to. I knew I’d made a mistake the moment I saw the look in your eyes. The disappointment. The defeat.” Another step, his foot crunching on the dry dirt. “The  _desperation.”_

The last word dripped from his mouth like honey.

“And who would risk sending a precious child like yours back to your Master?” he continued, his voice dropping even lower as he drew near. “Not I.” He paused, licking his lips. “Certainly not you. Going back would be a fate worse than death. The things Master would do to your daughter--”

Eugenia felt her lips part. A lump formed in her throat. “Daughter?”

“We Keepers have a way of telling.” His jade eyes locked on her stomach. “Her protection--that’s all you want now, isn’t it? The  _only_ thing you want.”

Her response was instant. “Yes.”

“Good,” the Keeper said. “Good. Then hurry. Take my hand.”

“I…” she began. She hesitated. Something tugged at the corner of her mind.

He flexed his fingers toward her, smiling. “Come, my dear. Come to the camp. You will be safe from him forever.”

 _Safe_ , Eugenia thought, the word rushing through her veins. A seagull screeched above her.  _Ma’caw,_ it seemed to say.  _Ma’caw._

The Keeper held his hand out more insistently. _“_ _Lethallan_ _,”_ he said, his tone firm. “We are running out of time.”

She reached out her hand.

“Good girl,” the Keeper said, his smile becoming hungry. Her fingers brushed his. His skin was hot--burning, as if he had a fever. The scream of the seagull became louder, closer.

_“Ma’lath.”_

Eugenia jerked awake. Salriel was shaking her shoulder, kneeling on the bed beside her.

The dream fell away. She struggled for a moment, caught between realms. Reality settled over her like a fine mist as she stared into Salriel’s eyes.

The clan had refused them.

They’d fled to Rivain.

They were at Dairsmuid Circle.

 _A demon_ , she realized, a wave of horror crashing over her. The Keeper had been a demon. And it had almost  _taken_ her.

“Maker give me strength,” she whispered to herself. Like every mage in Master’s household, she’d been taught to treat dreams with caution, been trained to resist temptation. But the Veil was so thin here, and these past few weeks had left her in a state of despair. 

 _I can't sleep here_ , she realized, clutching her throat with her fingers. She was too vulnerable. 

“We have to leave,” Salriel told her, interrupting her thoughts. “Now. Someone’s here, someone's coming.”

The panic in his eyes burned her awake. Thoughts of the dream disappeared. There was danger on this side of the Veil as well. She nodded, pushing back the covers as she killed the fire with a wave of her hand. They crept into the hallway, hoping the cover of night would be enough to give them time.

It was not. They were too late.

“There!” a voice shouted.

 _Cassius_.

“Vitus!” a second voice growled, this one deep and familiar, and Eugenia’s blood ran cold.

 _“Run,”_ Salriel told her, drawing his bow. She did not have to be told twice.

Eugenia tried to keep pace with him as he flew down the hallway, his bare feet barely making a sound against the stone. Her own steps were much heavier. He had her hand in his, half dragging her, his bow and quiver still swung over his shoulder. Her body complained, the extra weight of her belly slowing her down. Behind them, leathered footsteps and the sound of something dragging echoed against the walls.

Eugenia glanced back. Master and Cassia hung back, arguing. Eugenia could barely make out the daughter, but she seemed to be--slumped. Injured? Cassius pursued them, closing the gap between them with his long legs.

Salriel sped up. They turned a corner, the wall hiding them from Cassius’s view. When they came to a giant door in an alcove on their right, Salriel tugged her toward it, pulling her into the dark frame. He pushed her flat against the wall, his hands on her shoulders, his belly pressed against hers to keep them in the shadows.

The leather footsteps grew louder. Eugenia held her breath, her forehead almost touching Salriel’s. It was more intimate than they’d been since they’d left Salriel’s clan.

The light of a flame hit the walls across from them. Cassius passed them by.

Eugenia counted fifteen heartbeats. She let out a huff of air.

Salriel peered up and down the empty hallway. He made to enter it, but Eugenia tugged him by the hand, stopping him.

“Master’s still out there,” Eugenia told him in a whisper.

Salriel caught her gaze. His eyes gleamed like a cat’s in the darkness. “Cato,” he corrected in the same low tone.

“Cato,” she mouthed back, barely audible. “He’s still out there.”

Salriel nodded. He turned back to the large door they’d hid by and began to tug at the handle. It didn’t budge.

“Wait,” Eugenia said, sensing something. She ran her magic over it, searching. There was a locking glyph on it, a simple thing, the kind of thing one would do in a hurry. With her fingers, she touched the wood, brushing the spell away.

The door opened into a pitch black room. A whiff of warm air escaped, and Eugenia had to cover her mouth to block out the stench. Salriel seemed to be holding back a cough himself, his nose in his elbow. They exchanged a glance, then took a hesitant step forward together. When nothing happened, they took another.

There was a noise, a thud, as if someone had dropped a book. It made them pause. She could hear Salriel's bow grow taut, him cocking an arrow. Silence thundered around them. 

After a beat, Eugenia risked summoning a ball of light.

A tall, rotting corpse stood just five yards in front of her, swaying slightly, his empty sockets trained on her face. Behind him were dozens more, an army of undead, bits of skin clinging to their dead arms and faces. Some wore robes, some armor. Templars. Mages. Seekers.

The first corpse took a step forward.

Eugenia screamed.

 

...

 

Cassius’s light illuminated two familiar faces. “Father! Ahead!” he bellowed.

Cato saw the faces of his stray lambs in grave detail. Vitus’s expression was a mixture of fear and anger, but he pulled the woman along behind him. Eugenia simply looked terrified. “Vitus!” he roared. This was the third time the elf had turned from him, refused the yoke of service. There would not be a fourth, there could not be – his reputation would not, could not, suffer another mark.

They hadn’t set off any traps or alarms – negligent of Vitus to so assume an Aurelius couldn’t find him. But how? How was it that the elf was yet again one step ahead of him?

Cato watched his lambs flee from his sight. Cassius leapt after the elf and the woman, hand outstretched and wreathed in fire. Cassia was flagging again and the drag of her leg was obscenely loud. It was clear now what had alerted Vitus to their presence. Cato loomed over his daughter – Cassius knew better than to kill the couple – and took a moment to whisper in her ear.

“I would have thought this trip would have cured you of your consistent, obstinate stupidity. It seems that time and time again, I am proven wrong, and it is my sentiment that blinds me to your worst failings.” He squeezed her shoulder tightly. “Fail this time, my ugly duckling, and you’ll stay in this place. If you love the southern customs so much, you can live in this tower. I am done, my dear.”

His hand left her shoulder and he jogged after Cassius. A shrill scream Cato registered as Eugenia’s grating voice resounded like a bell through the stone corridors.

Cassius’s barrier flared up in a brilliant light before an arrow glanced off of it. Vitus, it seemed, was cornered properly. He fired off another shot at Cassius who backed off warily.

Behind the elf and the woman, Cato saw the corpses. Rotted cloth clung to the shriveled, desiccated corpses of those who had died in this wretched tower. Eugenia looked horrified. Vitus was still focused on his son – Cato sent a lightning bolt at her leg, aiming for her knee and down. She screamed in pain. Vitus fired off another shot and was dragging her back, to a further doorway. The corpses lost interest in the couple and turned on Cassius and Cato.

Cato felt the urge to take off after Vitus – carve a run collar in his neck and that broodmare of his so they couldn’t simply take their heels and flounce off – yet the undead staggered towards them. Cassius let out a cry when a large undead templar swung his blade and sliced off two of his fingers.

Cato wrenched a vial of blood from his belt and smashed it on the ground. Fire sprouted from the blood, and quickly began heating the room – Cato saw the room in full when the fire barred the corpses from touching them. His head throbbed and it felt as though his heart had moved between his eyes.

A dozen…twenty-two…thirty-one…

Mage and templar corpses. The elf and his broodmare had fled from sight, down the corridor after they'd somehow shimmied around the Aurelius family and left them to the undead. Of course whether or not Cassia had intended them to escape or not was unclear. After this was done, he was done with the girl.

The enormous templar, which was actually a Revenant now that Cato could clearly see his opponent, stalked towards father and son, sending out a gust of wind that guttered his fire barrier. Cassius gasped, held his bleeding hand to his stomach. The Revenant reached a hand out and enormous translucent claws grasped Cato and yanked him closer, off his feet and sent him stumbling.

He broke another vial, then another immediately after that. It was the last vial besides Vitus’s harvested phylactery. The red, sticky, preserved strands of blood rose and he began his assault against the Revenant while he kept his body in front of his son. His throat worked as though he needed a glass of water. Cassius cast lightning that jumped from corpse to corpse. The scent of burnt, decayed meat singed noses but it remained in the background. But for every one that fell, another rose, an unending wave that recovered nearly instantly.

The Revenant swung a Morningstar and Cato narrowly avoided it. He broke another vial. His mouth was parched, his tongue felt fat. It was difficult to swallow. His stomach gurgled – when had he last eaten? The smell of blood was salty, pleasant and it rose like potpourri in wafts. Cato couldn't remember if blood had ever smelled that way before. Had he ever noticed...?

Cassius called out to him weakly.

A templar corpse lifted its sword over its head, but wobbled and staggered to the left. He felt a swell of magic. It tried aiming for Cassius again, but yet again its aim was impaired enough that it nearly completely bisected a mage corpse.

At the entrance, Cassia cast another hex, this time directed at the Revenant.

With the added support of an entropy mage, the balance was disrupted. The Revenant abandoned its assault on Cato and wrenched Cassius to its side, lifting him bodily into the air and flinging him into a crowd of undead. Cassia slurred her brother’s name, impotently limping in his direction before being cut off. Corpses fell upon his son.

Cato had no blood left. None but Vitus’s – and if he used it now, he would forfeit his prizes. A knot formed in his stomach, roiling. He was so thirsty.

Cassia cast a sleeping spell on a portion of the undead, calling to her brother. The Revenant stood over him, Morningstar slowly rising. Cassius gurgled. His son. His son. His heir.

Cato turned to Cassia, emotion fleeing him. He needed Vitus. He needed Cassius.

For the first time in possibly her entire life, he needed Cassia as well.

His hand curled and he began leeching his daughter’s life from her, draining her of her blood. She cried out weakly, and sank to her knees, her eyes finding him. Her dead eye rolled at him, but didn’t blink, it didn’t float. It focused on him.

The Revenant prepared its final blow to his son.

Cassia’s blood, the power within it was so – it was, it was transcendental. There was nothing he couldn’t do in this moment. The Revenant was consumed by fire and lightning, its borrowed body twisted beneath Cato’s magic. The corpses hissed and moaned, and tried to shy from the elements.

Cassia gagged beside his feet.

He pulled more from her, blood draining from the tips of her fingers and out of her mouth and ears, out of her eyes, and it followed his directing hand. A maestro. His mouth felt odd, as though he wasn’t able to close his lips any longer. The sound of his jaw popping somehow escaped his notice.

It was...almost a religious experience. He remembered eating ortolan as a boy while completing his early schooling. There had never been such a fulfilling meal, so rich and delicious, a decadence that eclipsed any gourmet experience he’d ever had.

Slaves with mage blood, elven blood, great warriors, and scholars –

All of them had had a distinct flavor, each unforgettable in their own right. He’d once compared the blood of a sacrificed cook to an egg cream tart – the blood’s impression within the world mimicked the taste of food.

He’d believed that Vitus had been the closest he’d ever gotten to that reflection of his favorite dish; all that power and wildness bubbling beneath his skin. He’d completed his most complex of rituals with that blood.

How laughable to know that the real ortolan, the purest form of the Orlesian dish, had been hidden in the veins of his daughter. The Revenant and the corpses fell around them. Cato laughed in a high voice. His joints popped, his ligaments tore while his back arched and stretched. His body was trying to accommodate a new shape, a new form. Something powerful, unique. Something so very, very famished.


	4. Chapter 4

Salriel held his ear flush against the door, straining to hear noises. There was only silence. Neither the living nor the dead had followed them. He let his breath out between his lips, slumping slightly as his adrenaline faded.

A whimper drew his attention to Eugenia, who had gone to the corner. She was trembling, her hands shaking in front of her face. She began to slide down the wall, tiny noises escaping her mouth.

 _“Ma’lath,”_ he said as he rushed to her side, grabbing her arm. He paused, not certain they should risk being seen. But he had to examine the injury. “Can you--?” he asked, hesitantly. “I need to see it.”

Eugenia held out a hand. Soft blue light filled the room, flickering as she struggled to maintain it. Salriel sucked in his breath as he looked down, feeling sick.

“Oh,  _ma’lath,”_ he murmured. Her leg was badly burned, flesh burnt crisp black. Cato’s lightning had eaten through her skin, digging deep into her muscle. And now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he could tell the pain was growing worse for her. Her sobbing was getting louder. He took her face in his hands. “Hush, Geni. Hush.”

But she either couldn’t hear him, or she couldn’t control it. Soon, her cries began to echo on the walls. If Cato passed this hallway, he would surely hear them. Salriel began to panic. How could he leave her here to get health potions if she was so loud?

 _“Ma’lath,_ please,” he begged, trying to meet her eyes. Hers were squeezed shut. Suddenly her light shuttered out, bathing them in darkness, and she let out a screech. He cursed softly, patting his pockets. With relief, he felt the sleeping potion from earlier. He pulled it out, grabbing her cheeks with one hand, forcing her mouth open. Her eyes snapped wide, and she stared at the bottle as he removed the cork with his teeth.

“What--what?” she asked, unable to form a full sentence.

He spat the cork to the side. “A sleeping potion,” he said, hoping she heard the apology in his voice. “I am sorry,  _ma’lath._ We do not have one for healing, and I need to keep you quiet.”

“N-n-n,” she stuttered, her eyes growing round as plates. She was still trembling and whimpering between her words, her dark skin growing pallid and damp with sweat from her injury. She jerked her head out of his hands.“N-n-no sleep. P-please.”

Salriel touched her cheek. “It will be fine,  _ma’lath_.”

“I can't-- They’ll get-- me. Th-they’ll--”

“I am sorry,” he repeated, sincerely. “I promise, I won’t let Cato get you.”

“N-N-NO! NOT--” she cried, struggling against him. Salriel felt a rush of fear at how loud she was being. He darted forward, squeezing her mouth open with a harsh jerk.  _“AMATUS_ , THE DE--”

Whatever she was about to say was drowned out as he emptied the potion into her mouth. She tried to spit it out, but Salriel pressed her lips closed. Too weak to stop him, she swallowed once, then twice.

He released her. Her sobs turned deeper as the fight bled out of her, the little posture she had left disappearing. She slid her body to the floor, curling around herself.

“Y-you…,” she said, and it was so hopeless that Salriel felt tears gather in his eyes as well.

“I’m so sorry,” he told her, reaching out a hand to stroke her hair in the darkness.

She did not reply. Her breathing grew steady as she entered the Fade. Salriel sat back on his heels, taking a deep breath.

 _“Ar lath ma,”_ he told her, knowing she could no longer hear him. “Cato will not have you.” He kissed her forehead once before rising. Leaving her was a risk he had to take. There were healing potions in the cellar. He needed them before an infection formed.

He paused at the door, looking back at her lax form, and prayed to the Creators that she’d forgive him.

 

...

 

Letting the slaves escape had been enough to receive punishment, but Eugenia had made her dreadful plea. Her baby. How her lover promised freedom and safety within his clan. Cassia had always been weak, soft. She couldn’t say no, not when Eugenia had been a kind balm while her mother died a slow death. She didn’t know that the other woman’s lover had been the same one her father prized above all his other slaves and experiments.

She’d realized it too late – stupid, slow Cassia, bane of the Aurelius name – and oh, how her father raged. She hadn’t known exactly how deep those waters went until she’d all but dived in. He’d used blood magic against her – Vitus's blood, to be precise because, as he’d said after he was done and stroked her hair: “It needs to last darling. I’ve never used corporal punishment before, but I see now that this was inevitable. Some children need the rod.”

Lightning and fire in equal measure, to twist her lungs and weaken her heart, her left knee had broken, her left arm was a twisted mass of mostly useless muscle and skin and the scars clawed up her neck, constricted her breathing as limited as it already was, several of her teeth had fallen out, her eye was a lost cause, and her ear looked more like a turnip than anything that belonged on a human body.

In the early days, it had been too painful to cry but she’d been unable to stop. Her marriage prospects, already somewhat hindered by her more liberal ideas on slavery and servitude, had all but vanished overnight. Eating had been impossible but for thin, tasteless soups. Her hair had fallen out in clumps after a healer tended to her as much as he could. She’d wet the bed more than a few times, the control over her body had surrendered to her inability to move at all, unable to feel anything but excruciating pain.

Her older maid servant, an elven woman by the name of Dinah, had changed her sheets and cleaned her, brushed what remained of her hair and patiently tended to her. Dinah had always been in her life. The woman had tended to her sickly mother until she died. She’d even been a wet nurse to Cassia.

She said nothing of Cato or of Cassius who had informed his father of who exactly had released his veritable horde of slaves. She just pursed her lips and kept caring for Cassia and tutted when the young woman begged for a mirror. Her face. Her _face_. The one good thing left, besides her hair but she knew that her hair was done for.

Eventually her hair grew back, and she got more feeling back to her hand and arm, but her leg was crippled and bathing alone was a chore. She fed off the potions Cato made for her that lessened the pain and gave her more mobility.

She’d hoped Eugenia and her lover were far, far away, but her father received word that his clan had rejected them. They were homeless. Cato had his ear to the ground and lost them several times. Now, at Dairsmund Circle with the two cornered…

This – this was her last chance.

“Your last chance to accept your family, darling. I’ll fix that leg and arm of yours, mend those tattered shreds called your organs. I can’t do anything for that eye, my darling, but there’s a craftsman who is quite gifted at prosthetics. I imagine a pretty glass eye would do better than that boiled egg rolling around your head.”

Cassius had jokingly scolded his father after he’d called her dead eye a boiled egg.

Now, after her father and brother had nearly caught the pair, they were enclosed in a wall of the undead and – and –

Her father’s hand curled and he pulled more blood from her body. Out of her eyes and nose and mouth and ears, splitting open scars –

She watched him change, unable at first to look away.

Her father had always been handsome. So aristocratic looking. The epitome of classic Tevinter beauty. 

Now his teeth jutted obscenely out of his mouth, his jaw widened and drooped, his neck elongated and the underside of his jaw developed a pocket not unlike a sea bird. His laugh had never been so high pitched, so wretched. His body was malformed, diseased. The sound of his bones changing was so loud it competed with the roar of his fire, burning brightly. 

With a sudden, violent lurch, Cassia flung a spell at him. It stunned him, and he made a garbled noise, monstrous in tone. With last of her reserve, she cast a spell of sleep over him and his eyelids fluttered in drowsiness.

She struggled to keep her head from touching the ground. If she slept now, exhausted as she was, she would wake up dying or never wake up at all. She spared no thought for her father, twisted creature he’d become in a matter of moments or for her brother, still beaten and bloody and gasping for air on the ground. The undead lay still and silent; they were either truly dead or had been caught in her spell. She wheezed and her shoes scraped the ground as she struggled to stand, using her staff as a walking stick.

Cassia felt along the walls, coughing up bloody phlegm. She just needed a moment to rest, away from everything. Just a moment.

Vitus and Eugenia had taken to the corridor, vanishing into the darkness. Perhaps they knew a way out. Perhaps there was a place to hide.

It was difficult to think. The darkness was so complete in here. She heard whispers and humming, things that scratched and moaned. Someone, something, sighed behind her, the exhale cold and moist on her ear. She flinched and staggered, falling on her side and her head knocked on the floor with a solid crack. She slumped, still and silent as the dead.

The candle flame flickered from a brush of a breeze.

“Close your eyes,” Dinah murmured. “I’ve got to get you ready for your wedding.”

“Yes,” Cassia agreed. “My wedding.”

The brush went through her hair in long, patient strokes that tugged at her scalp pleasantly. “Proper pressed kohl for your eyes,” Dinah hummed in a sing-song tone. Dinah had always loved this. Makeup and hair, and dresses and other such fine things. “Gold leaf at the corners, everyone knows the Aurelius family bleeds it,” her smile was soft and mischievous and Cassia returned it.

“But my face, Dinah, my face –” she worried suddenly, sitting up straighter. Her hand flung to touch her scars – smooth, soft skin, slicked in rose oil – and then Dinah’s hands drew hers away.

“Oh no, no, my lady, you’ll ruin the powder,” she scolded gently. “Hands on your skirt please.”

A wet brush tip traced her lips – whole and beautiful, just like the rest of her. She’d always been beautiful. Her saving grace, really.

Dinah placed a mirror before her. Cassia smiled to see herself; resplendent in white and gold, edges traced in black lace and her face matched the dress – kohl cut eyes, dark red lips and designs of gold leafing was a starburst of color from the corner of her eyes that nearly reached her temples.

Two hands smoothed her hair down, cupping her skull and ears to rest delicately at her neck. Dinah chuckled. Cassia returned the older woman’s laughter with a girlish giggle.

Cassia smiled up at the thing that bore her nanny’s face and shape, as it held her gently while she continued to bleed. Her blood spread on the vanity she had been propped up on and rolled down to the floor. The dusty mirror reflected her scars and physical deformities that the demon stroked almost lovingly. The creature that now stood as Dinah before the noblewoman began to hum, stroking her charge's hair. "Such a pretty thing. So pretty," the thing crooned and Cassia looked up at her affectionately. The door behind her shut silently. 

Further down the hall, Cassius gasped and gurgled, fought for air. His hand shook where it covered the hole in his abdomen. Stretches of entrails coiled out of him, roped through the hands of the still undead. They slept eerily above him.

He could see his father's twisted form in the gaps between the bodies crouched over him. He snoozed comfortably with his jaw agape. His shoulders were bony and his form was emaciated. He was no longer strong and healthy. An abomination somehow. He'd never been in danger despite his use of blood magic before - this accursed place and that damn dwarf were to blame. Those damn slaves. Even his sister. They were at fault for the position they'd forced onto father and son. 

Cassia had left him there. That weakling had dragged herself to safety and he'd seen she'd spared no one a second thought. Family ties indeed. 

Cassius forced himself to move, dragged his body with one hand, dragged himself to the door. He shook, and shivered, and tried not to call out in pain when his body brushed broken glass.

An armored foot stepped down in his vision, dimly visible only by the light he'd conjured earlier that still hovered in the air. A helmeted head cocked down at him. Cassius made a feeble, wounded noise.

He mouthed the word no.

Cassius was dragged from the room, and he was unable to fight back. He thought he might've called for his father, or his sister, but he couldn't hear his own voice.

 

...

 

Salriel relied on his senses and memory rather than a torch to navigate the cellar this time. He used his hand to stay close to the wall, trying not to think too much when his fingers brushed through a sticky substance. The smell of fresh blood had permeated the whole building. Cato must have brought gallons of it. He gathered some potions, then retraced his steps back to the room where Eugenia waited.

When he slipped in the door, he stopped, taken aback. Eugenia was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a softly-lit orb floating beside her. She’d pulled off her damaged leggings, leaving only a thick tunic, exposing the calf that Cato had injured. His eyes traced her long brown legs. The skin was whole, unblemished--fully healed. He blinked at her.

She smiled back serenely, rising to her feet as if emerging from water.  _“Amatus.”_

“How--?” he said, dumbfounded.  _“Ma’lath,_ I gave you a potion. You should be sleeping.”

She sauntered toward him, her hips swaying. “I think it was old,” she explained, her voice low. “Or perhaps it was poorly made. I feel fine.”

He glanced back down. “Your leg--”

“I healed it,” Eugenia replied. “Isn’t it wonderful? Just like you said. My magic grows stronger, the further we run.” She reached him, looking at him with burning eyes. “You’ve always been so wise, my love.” She held her hand to his face, her fingers ghosting over his cheek. Her skin felt hot on his, as if her blood were boiling beneath her skin.

He frowned, reaching up to brush her brow. It was just as warm. “You should take a healing potion. You feel like you have a fever.”

Her lips curled gently as she grabbed his hand. She turned her head, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “A fever?” she murmured against his skin, her eyes still on his. “But I’ve been so cold without you.”

She tilted her head down and captured his lips, her mouth hot as flames against his. A soft moan escaped her. Her teeth took his lower lip between them, rolling it playfully as her fingers reached up and tangled in his hair. His surprise made him drop the potions he carried. One shattered.

 _“Ma’lath,”_ he exclaimed, pulling away at the sound. She chased him, pushing him backwards against the wall, her hands on his shoulders. Her tongue licked into his mouth. He felt a pulse of desire stirring in his belly. The slide of her tongue against his felt divine.

It’d been so long since she’d  _wanted_ him. She’d been quiet and cold since they’d left Antiva. Since his clan had refused them. And this--the one thing he'd learned to live for, his only solace in Cato’s manse--this, he had missed so much.

 _Cato_ , Salriel realized.

“Wait,” he said, the fog lifting. She tried to kiss him again, and he turned his head away.  _“Wait.”_ He lowered his voice. “Geni, we need to get out of here.”

“We’re safe for now,” Eugenia told him, trying to pull him back toward her. “Cato won’t find us.”

He grabbed her arms and stopped her. “Geni,” he said. His brow lowered. Had the magic somehow affected her? “Are you alright?”

She stared back at him, her gaze still hot. The darkness began to bleed out of her eyes. “Yes,” she said, stepping back two paces. Salriel felt the loss of her immediately, but forced himself to remain still. “Of course. I apologize. I’m just--it must be the pregnancy. I don’t know what came over me.”

Salriel swallowed. That seemed like it could be true. Whatever was wrong, he could find out later. “We need to get out of here. I smelled blood out there. He could be tracking us.”

She took his hand, intertwining their fingers together, stepping right beside him. “Lead the way,  _ma’lath,”_ she purred into his ear. He swallowed. It was rare that she used elven with him, but it always had an effect, hearing his own tongue on her lips.

They slipped through the door. He brought her back to the stairwell he’d found, taking them to the ground floor this time. Their footsteps were quiet, but he heard no other sounds, no other voices. He noticed even the noises from outside had changed. The storm had passed. If the distant buzzing of the jungle was any indication, then it was nearly morning.

They returned to the front of the building, Salriel relying on the map in his head. When they reached the foyer, he paused, confused.

“What is it?” Eugenia asked, her voice still smooth, like the sap of a tree.

“I thought there was a gate here,” he told her.

“Was there?” she asked dreamily. “I don’t remember.”

Salriel shook his head. There was no time. “Never mind,” he said, pulling her with him. The front door opened with a groan that he hoped Cato would not hear. They were greeted by brightness--sunlight, the breaking dawn. When the hot air of morning hit their faces, Salriel and Eugenia began to walk faster, then broke into a run. The world around them was pink and green and  _alive_ , and Cato was nowhere to be seen. They rushed toward the trees, not stopping until they were in a thick spot, the building all but covered from view.

Salriel let go of her hand then. He let out a laugh. Eugenia was panting, but she began to giggle as well.

 _We did it,_ he thought as he leaned against a tree, gasping with joy.  _We did it._ He took a moment to catch his breath, letting Eugenia do the same. They grinned at each other.

Once their lungs were not quite as sore, Eugenia’s gaze darkened again. She strode toward him, and wrenched him into a desperate kiss, her lips and teeth almost painful as they explored his mouth. This time, he met her with equal enthusiasm, until she began to run her hands over his front and his sides.

 _“Ma’lath,”_ he said when her mouth went to his neck, sucking hard. “Maybe not here--ah!”

“Here,” she demanded, returning to his lips. She shoved him against the tree, then began kissing his ear. He melted against her. “Do you know how scared I was, Salriel? How frightened I was in there?”

“Ah--I was, too,” he managed to gasp as she nibbled on his lobe.

“I never,” she whispered, low, “want to feel that way again.”

“And you won’t,” he groaned. “I promise.”

Eugenia stopped. Her curled lips brushed against his ear. She chuckled darkly, the sound making him shiver.

“Your promises are lies,  _amatus,”_ she hissed. His brain stuttered to a halt. It was as if she’d poured ice down his spine. She pulled back from him, staring at him intently. He blinked. Her eyes glowed in the sunlight, a lavender color brewing behind the tea brown. There was a hard expression on her face he’d never seen before. “You promised you’d keep us from Cato.”

 _“Ma’lath?”_ he asked, breathless.

“It was a lie,” she said. Her voice had become tinny, echo-y, like she was speaking into a cone. The lavender was growing stronger, as if a purple sun was rising and her pupil was the sky. “You were weak. Your clan was weak.” Her lips curled into a cruel smile. “I wasn't. I would do _anything_ to keep this child from Cato.  _Anything.”_

He stared, shivering slightly. “W-why are you talking like...?”

She ducked her head forward, staring at him intensely through her thick lashes.  _“Anything.”_ In the corner of his eye, he saw her arm move up to his neck.

Salriel cried out, his eyes widening as he felt the cold bite of metal against his throat. His hunting knife. She’d taken it from his belt somehow. He hadn’t even noticed. “Eugenia--please! What are you doing?”

“You could not protect us,” she told him slowly, the pressure of the knife growing stronger with every word. “But I can.”

He struggled against her, but her strength was almost superhuman.  _“Ma’lath--”_

 _“Cato will not have you,”_ she mocked in a trill, her eyes bright purple now, cracks of violet light appearing across her skin. Then she slashed the knife to the side. He felt his own skin split, felt the liquid rush down his front as he gurgled, collapsing onto the ground. Black rings appeared around his vision as he died, his lungs begging in agony for air they wouldn’t get.

He watched as his lover held the knife to her own throat next.

 _No!_ he mouthed, but of course, no sound could form.  _No, no, no, no--_

The last thing he saw was a flash of metal. A spray of thick scarlet.

He was already gone when her corpse landed beside his.


	5. Chapter 5

Charter cursed, ducked out of the way when a wave of frost nearly touched her boots. Bloomers, an ex-templar, raised his daggers and caught the gluttony demon in the throat. He, it, screeched and clawed at him. Bloomers staggered him and Charter took the opportunity that had presented itself.

Watching a demon die was incredibly discomforting. They crumbled into some kind of sticky soot before just...vanishing in a rather unnatural manner.

The desire demon was the objective of their deployment but the area was still a threat and Rivaini authorities refused to help the Inquisition with excuse of not being able to afford the loss of manpower. Rivain hadn't forgotten the Chantry's hand in killing their Seers, or the massacre of Dairsmund.

Once they arrived in Rivain, it was obvious it wasn't just the bloody desire demon masquerading as a pregnant girl and the undead spotted in the area. Inns reported guests going missing, people just wandering off in a daze never to return – animals avoiding the area altogether. Charter had thought it prudent to put together a special team to scope the area – Greens and Sieve were guards from Kirkwall, Bloomers had been a templar, Collar was mage from Ferelden who had served during the Blight, and Doe had come from a family of apostates. Now that they were in the Circle, there was no easy escape, apparently.

The doors locked themselves, fires lit on their own, and the party had become separated. The entire place wanted to kill them.

A lock tumbler clicked over and Charter readied her weapon. She hissed at Bloomers to get into position. The door creaked and groaned. There was no one on the other side.

Bloomers wiped his face of sweat. “Damn demons. Once they find something that bothers you, they needle you with it until you damn well collapse.”

“Is that your way of telling me to not let the creepy bumps in the night bother me?” Charter asked as they moved forward, slowly advancing.

“Yes.”

The sound of running down the hall alerted them to a new presence – Greens. He came to a stop with a gasp. “Charter?!”

“It is, what's the matter Greens? Have you seen any of the others?” Charter looked him over briefly. Spots of demon ooze, dust, but nothing that indicated an injury.

He nodded and gulped down air. He pointed. “Took the desire thing out.” He shook his head. “It was wearing that girl's face.” He shuddered. “It was hard to watch it die looking like...like a human, you know?”

Charter cursed. “Anything else?”

“None alive, so's far as we can tell – Sieve found a body. The room was locked, so we had high hopes...but she was dead. The wretch was all scarred all over. Died on a vanity,” Greens wrinkled his nose.

“Funny,” Charter replied flatly.

“Not too funny, Charter. Going by her robes, she was a Tevinter noble.”

It clicked. “The man we found by the entryway, the Revenant corpse.”

Greens rubbed his nose. “Think so, anyway, yeah?”

She nodded slowly. “Might be. Slavers, maybe, or venatori sympathizers.” Good riddance, she thought.

She saw the torchlight of the others up ahead, waiting.

“Immediate threat is eliminated then?” she asked.

Sieve spoke from the gloom. “More than the immediate threat. Two major players are down along with a shit load of undead.”

“Three players,” Bloomers put in. “Gluttony demon,” he jerked a thumb back in the room he and Charter had been locked in.

“Can we leave then?” Greens asked a bit too eagerly.

“No, we have to wait until morning for the others. Dairsmund needs to be cleared.”

“Besides, if we leave it as it is and don't do a proper cleansing, this is just asking for trouble. It'll be a spawning ground.” Bloomers sheathed his weapons.

“We don't have to sleep in here, do we?” Greens looked a little queasy.

“No you baby, we sleep outside in tents. Charter wouldn't have us hole up in demon city.” Sieve clapped his hand to Greens's back.

Charter raised her brows. “The doors are open?”

Sieve gave her an odd look. “Yes?”

Bloomers made a disgruntled sound. “They closed and barred us in, you know. Maybe without the big ones around, they've lost some of their hold on this place.”

“Right,” Charter agreed half-heartedly. “This place isn't as powerful as it was without them.”

“Sure, it happens,” Bloomers said confidently. “It'd be best if we left for now though. I haven't got it in me to run through this whole place without any relief. Desire and the Revenant are dead, and we got that bonus demon in the corner room.” He addressed Greens. “What about the room with the dead woman? Anything in there? Was she undead?”

Greens shook his head. “No, she looked fresh. Couldn't have been dead for more than a day. No demons, either. Collar did a sweep with Doe. Suicide?”

Bloomers shrugged. “She's Tevene. Does it matter other than that she's dead?”

“'Suppose not.” Greens rubbed his arms. “Let's get out, yeah? Wait for the others and finish up later?”

Charter fidgeted in place. Dairsmund wasn't going anywhere, and if there were any players left, Bloomers or Collar or Doe would have sensed them. “Right. Let's gather everyone, do our checks, and bed down until tomorrow.”

Greens looked elated. Sieve threw an arm around his friend's shoulder and went on in detail about the desire demon. Bloomers was somewhat put out that he hadn't fought against her.

“She sounds terrible,” Charter responded absently when Sieve reenacted a part of their battle. Collar and Doe looked to be good condition, and there were undead things littering the ground around them. There was only a black stain where the desire demon had apparently fallen.

“Right. We leave here until the cavalry comes, but we took out the demons that were at the top of the food chain,” Bloomers stated.

“So we presume,” Charter added. “We'd like to leave while the doors are still open. This is a dangerous place to have a dull edge and we all need the sleep. Let's leave before this place decides to throw another horde at us.”

Charter wanted a country's worth of distance between this place and her people. Something was watching them, and she could see that Collar and Doe thought the same, from the way neither seemed particularly exuberant and watched the shadows and the walls as if they expected them to come alive. There was still something somewhere watching them and it was content with hiding.

She wasn't going to play that damn game.

She led the party outside and saw a light in a tower, a fire. She stared and debated calling on the team to head back now that there were clear signs of more activity, but thought about the missing list they had compiled, and kept silent. It would wait until morning.

 


End file.
